


The Silence of Your Deep

by Viscariafields



Series: Puppy Love [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair has dragon blood it's a whole thing, F/M, King Alistair (Dragon Age), Pregnancy, Warden Bethany Hawke, we're dipping into some weird lore with this one folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: It shouldn't be possible for Bethany to get pregnant. Not with Alistair.~A sequel to The Coolness of Your Shadow
Relationships: Alistair/Bethany Hawke
Series: Puppy Love [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715638
Comments: 69
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note-- this is a sequel to TCOYS, not TEOS! So it's Warden Beth, not Circle Beth. TCOYS is probably not required reading, but it is a different world state.

Bethany couldn’t be bothered to change out of her Warden uniform for dinner. She would be Bethany the Warden tonight rather than Bethany the sort-of-almost Queen, and the ambassador from Nevarra could simply accept that. On stepping into the grand dining room, however, she realized the energy she saved in not changing was only enough to get her here—it was not enough to get her through a single minute of this gathering. The exhaustion overtaking her body was an actual physical ache she could feel in her bones, and if her all-encompassing goal in life right now were not to lie flat on the nearest soft surface, she might have been curious about where it came from.

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked her as she stifled a yawn.

She was too tired to lie. “If I’m not in bed in the next five minutes, I won’t be.”

He paused just a moment to look her up and down. “Should I escort you?”

“You don’t have to.” One of them should probably be present at the start of this dinner, and her feet were already pointed at the exit. “Oh, but it would be lovely if you did.”

He offered his arm, and Bethany briefly considered simply collapsing into it and forcing him to carry her. He’d do it, too, she was sure, but no, she was strong enough to make it back herself, even if each footstep was a torment. “You don’t have to stay with me,” she assured him, practically hanging off of him, “You’re needed back there.”

“Have you fallen ill?” he asked with a disgusting amount of energy.

“I’ve fallen sleepy,” she replied. Once she crossed the threshold of their bedroom, Bethany shucked her clothes with little care for where they landed. She did nothing else to ready herself for sleep, simply climbing into their bed.

“Are you sure you don’t need dinner?” Alistair asked, “Or the healer?”

“Mmph” was her only reply. She felt the bristles of his beard on her forehead, followed by his lips, and then she was blissfully asleep.

She woke in the middle of the night, starving, of course. She was almost always hungry since the Joining, though better at ignoring it these days. Skipping dinner in favor of sleep, however… No, her tainted blood would not stand for that. She sat up in bed to find Alistair beside her and Angus nestled between them, all four legs splayed in the air. Her nightstand held a tray of bread, jam, fruits and nuts and not a small amount of cheese.

“I love you,” she whispered in the direction of the food, though the words were meant for Alistair. Mostly. 

She ate her fill, careful to avoid crumbs on the bed. The dogs helped with that—Izzy didn’t even need to move from her spot on the floor to lick up anything dropped. Alistair almost woke up, a fussing, groaning, fidgeting sleeper, too hot, as always, and Bethany blew some chilled air on his neck and cooled down his pillow. That should sort him for the next few hours at least. And her. Sated, she shooed Angus away to sleep by her feet and curled up against Alistair, her nose pressed up against his arm, the sleepiness taking its course again.

She awoke with her arm reaching for the warm spot he had left behind on the bed and Alistair watching her futile efforts. Izzy quickly took up his spot, and Bethany contented herself in holding her mabari instead.

“Come back,” she groaned, refusing to acknowledge the sunlight pouring in through their curtains. When she opened her eyes, Alistair was simply staring at her, mouth half open and pulling toward a smile. If she didn’t know better, she would assume he was seeing her for the first time in his life. “Come back?” she tried again, letting the blankets slip off her bare form.

Alistair’s mouth dropped open a little further. After three attempts, he managed to spit out the word “Nevarra.”

“I’ve heard better offers,” Bethany teased.

“I have a meeting with the Ambassador. They get up early there, I’m told. But I wanted to make sure—are you alright?” Alistair asked her.

Bethany laughed. “Yes, I’m—” the room seemed to wobble as she sat up straight, and she flung her hands behind her for balance. Perhaps her laughter had been premature—“Fine?”

“Fine?” Alistair mimicked her, “Oh, yes, nothing to worry about when you’re… fine?” He placed his hand across her forehead again, though Bethany was certain she didn’t have a fever. “I’ll call for the healer. You’ve been a little off all week.”

“I _am_ a healer.”

“Then tell me what I can do.”

She took his hands in hers and held them tight to her chest. “You can go to your meeting while I drink some water, eat some breakfast, and get dressed. And,” she added under the weight of his wounded glare, “I’ll give myself a thorough inspection for any signs of illness. But I won’t find any.”

He heaved a sigh but moved to continue dressing for his meeting. “I suppose that will have to do for now. But I would feel better if you stayed here today and rested.”

“I think I’ve rested enough for two days, really. I must have slept for twelve hours last night.”

“It’s been more than just last night, though, hasn’t it? You’ve been tired for… for at least a week I think.”

“Sometimes people feel under the weather. A little run down, maybe.” Though, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a reason why she should be run down. Nothing much had changed recently. Even the weather had been nice for once. Less mud, less rain.

“ _I_ never do. I don’t think Wardens get sick, other than the obvious.”

“Well I get sick. Remember when I had a cold last winter? And you complained that I snored all night?” Alistair was dressed, and dashing, and Bethany wanted nothing more than to run her hand through his hair. “You’re going to be late for your meeting.”

“I’ll tell Fran to cancel everything. I’ll stay in bed with you.”

Bethany huffed. As much as she wanted Alistair to stay in this room with her for the next three hours or so, it would be wasted on worrying. “When I was growing up, I fell asleep everywhere. As long as there was a warm shoulder for my head, I would go to sleep.”

“You would have gone to sleep on the floor of the hallway last night had I not been there to drag you back.”

“Wouldn’t have made it that far. I would have fallen asleep on the Ambassador of Nevarra, and then where would we be?”

“After I accidentally flicked an olive straight onto his lapel? About the same place we are now, I’m afraid.”

“Then I need you to go to your meeting and avoid war with Nevarra, because, frankly, they are so far away, it would be very wasteful and confusing for everyone involved, and I’ll… rest. And inspect myself!” she added at his glare. 

Truthfully, when he left, she slept for two more hours. _Then_ she ate a breakfast of scones and magically reheated tea and read the letters dropped off for her while she was sleeping. And, if only to not feel guilty about it later when Alistair inevitably asked, she gave herself a magical inspection. As expected, she did not find anything. Except… when she did find something. Something impossible. And it was absolutely not something she could take to the castle healer.

Bethany sat at her vanity and brushed her hair and considered. Her hand wandered absently across a body that, until today, she thought she understood. The same scar across her knee from when she was a child, the same muscular thighs, a healed burn on her side from the Deep Roads, the first time. It had ached for days and was probably where the blight sickness entered her body, turning permanently darker than the rest of her skin. Ugly, but just another part of her, like the mole on her sternum or the claw marks on her back from one particularly bad day in the Roads.

Her sister’s eyes blinked at her in the mirror, a perfect blend of their parents in shape, but dark, like their father’s. She had her father’s dark, straight hair, too, tempered by her mother’s softness. Her mother’s tall nose, smoothed by her father’s roundness. It was Carver she resembled the least, somehow, but there was something about the eyes that marked the three of them as obvious siblings, when there had been three of them. She could see her entire family staring back at her in the mirror, and they looked a bit scared to be honest.

She brought her hand down to her chest; the scars on her lungs weren’t visible from the outside, but she could feel them when she exerted herself. They were the reason the Wardens did not complain too much when she moved to Denerim. A mage was hardly of any use if she collapsed after a hard day’s labor, unable to catch her breath. There was taint in her blood and magic throughout, and she looked in the mirror, and she _knew_ herself, her limits, her strengths, her capabilities. It was hard-earned and hard-accepted.

A hand to her belly, and she probed with magic again, and there it was, a small, extra rhythm, something that could not be, not with her. Not possible. That hope had been taken from her a long time ago and she was not about to fool herself now.

She swallowed.

She had to go to Amaranthine. The other Wardens would know something, some precedent for this. Velanna could give her better checkup than this. Tell her what was happening, what was wrong. What needed to be done.

She dressed slowly, feeling like molasses that had been frozen over. Telling Alistair before she understood exactly what was happening would only hurt him, but she didn’t trust herself to lie in this moment. Not to his face, anyway. She’d think of something.

~

There had been words after he’d married Bethany.

So, so many words.

Words in letters, words at court, finally words at the Landsmeet, where it was decided that yes, Alistair really had married a Grey Warden mage, it could not be denied, and no, there was no one to replace him as King at just this moment, and no, they could not technically unwed him, so yes, it was done.

Some banns had pointed out that Alistair was a Theirin man, as Cailan and Maric were Theirin men, and given some time, he’d be taking mistresses left and right anyway. Alistair had grinned all teeth as it was all but proclaimed a bastard was well on the way, and Ferelden seemed to be doing fine with a bastard on the throne, so what was one more anyway? This argument seemed to settle a lot of nerves, even if Alistair kept a private list of the cretins who went with it.

It was also decided that very technically, Bethany could not be _Queen,_ because she was a Grey Warden mage, and Grey Wardens couldn’t be Queen regardless of whatever circumstance had led to Alistair being King, and if she stopped being a Grey Warden she’d just be a _mage_ , an apostate in want of a Circle, so she had to keep being a Grey Warden, and a Grey Warden couldn’t be Queen. Round and round that argument went, and it landed just where it started.

But she also, as they had previously decided, could not be unwed from Alistair. The two of them had had, unfortunately, done it all quite legally with many witnesses, all of whom were of legendary fighting capabilities and could not simply be assassinated. So, yes, Ferelden acknowledged the King had married, and that he had a wife, and until such time as one or both of them died, this could not be undone.

As for Bethany, who Alistair had the foresight not to include at this Landsmeet, encouraging her to hide in Amaranthine for the duration of it, Wife of the King was her unofficial title. Queen Consort got bandied about, and that wasn’t so bad. It was mostly foreign dignitaries who stumbled over themselves trying to address her properly, and it wasn’t like Alistair _or_ Bethany stood much on ceremony. Your majesty, fine, Warden Hawke, whatever, hey you, a bit informal but it wasn’t like Alistair hadn’t heard it before.

He was certain she was called worse when he couldn’t hear.

Anyway, that was all about two years ago, and Alistair couldn’t be bothered with any of it. Bethany was his wife, and she was beautiful and clever and brilliant and thoughtful and sweet and dangerously skilled with her magic, and Alistair had never thought to be so lucky. There was no one he would rather spend his days with, which was why he was quite put out when he received a note from her saying that she had been called away on sudden business by the Wardens and would be gone for at least a week to Amaranthine.


	2. Chapter 2

Izzy setting her face on Alistair’s knee was the first indication Bethany was back.

“Thank the Maker,” Fran muttered as he barreled his way out of his office, mabaris in tow. She followed him, too, though with less enthusiasm.

Bethany was sitting in their room on the window seat, not in her Warden gear or a traveling outfit, but the same sort of peasant dresses she’d worn when he first met her in Lothering. Only gone a week and a bit, and Alistair felt like he hadn’t truly taken a deep breath during that time. Izzy reached her first, followed by Angus, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes as she patted and scratched both of them.

Alistair was standing speechless, just inside the doorway, content to watch her with the dogs for the rest of his life, really. But Beth sent them on their way, back to Alistair, and when she looked at him, she looked… tired. Still.

Alistair felt a jolt of fear in his chest. Was she not sleeping? Was she… did she hear…?

“I have news.” She looked pointedly and somewhat apologetically at Fran, who took the hint and bowed her way out. She took the dogs, and when the door clicked shut behind her, Bethany said, “No one can know about this. Not anyone.”

Alistair swallowed, trying to control his heart rate. Not like him, to be afraid of things. Unfamiliar, really, this pounding in his head. He took her hands in his, unable to think of any words to say for the first time in his life.

Maker, he was not ready to let her go.

“I’m… I’m not Warden anymore.”

He blinked. _What?_ “They sacked you? Hang on, they can’t sack you. Can they? No.”

“Alistair—”

“You can’t stop being a Warden. No one stops being a Warden when it comes down to it, it’s… it’s in the—”

“Blood?” she answered for him, “When I came back today, did you know it? Did you sense me? Like you used to?”

No, he hadn’t, and he didn’t need to answer that because she already knew.

“You didn’t realize I was back,” she stated. He frowned at her, uncomprehending. “You didn’t sense me. You don’t sense me here, right now. And I don’t sense you, either. And no one at the Vigil could. I thought no one was home when I arrived.”

He shook his head a little, unbelieving. “The taint—” 

“I’m not tainted anymore.”

He looked at her hands in his and… and it was unheard of. Someone being cured of the taint? It was… she was…

“But that’s—Maker, that’s good news, Beth. The best news.”

She would never hear the Calling. He wouldn’t lose her like that, to the Roads. She could live… Maker, she would outlive him. He could hardly believe it.

She did not look happy. “If anyone finds out, they could put me in the Circle.”

Of course she was ten steps ahead of him already. “They can bloody well try.”

“It’s the law. And if they tell anyone… if anyone finds out…”

And that was the sobering thought that must have had her looking so miserable. She’d spent her entire life hiding, pretending, and Alistair had promised her she’d never have to hide again. The Wardens made it easy to keep that promise, but if they decided to start talking… Maker, their marriage could actually be invalidated.

Bethany swallowed, getting a bit sniffly at the edges. He couldn’t blame her—he was feeling a bit sniffly himself. “They offered—I could try the Joining again, but I refused.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She sniffed for real now, and Alistair fished a handkerchief out of his pocket to hand to her as the first tears fell. “I… I’m expecting.”

Alistair waited patiently for her to finish that sentence as she dabbed at her face, but not that patiently, actually, because he asked, “Don’t leave a man in suspense, Beth. What is it? Expecting what?”

She laughed, sort of. A choked little sob of laughter, followed by, “I love you, you know that?”

This did nothing to placate him.

“A _baby_ , Ali. I’m _expecting_.”

When the words finally sorted themselves out in his head, he found he was holding Bethany very tightly, his chin tucked right over her head.

A baby.

She was…

With him?

A _baby._

…how?

This was a miracle.

“Bethany, this is a miracle.”

She was… Bethany was… untainted and pregnant. She was going to live and—and be a mother. With him. He’d be—Alistair was… he was going to be…

“What if it’s not?” she asked, all muffled sniffles against his chest, “What if it’s not a miracle?”

How could it not be? But he couldn’t swallow the lump out of his throat and get any words out just now.

“What if… what if it’s a monster?” She was shaking against his chest, sobbing, he realized. “What if I gave it the taint and it’s not a baby at all?”

Didn’t work that way. Couldn’t, could it? The world couldn’t be _that_ cruel. Healers, mages, the _Wardens_ must have known if something like that could happen. Must have been why she went to Amaranthine. “What did Velanna say?”

“That I was stupid.”

Alistair held her tighter. That did sound like Velanna. “You aren’t stupid.”

“I just keep thinking… I don’t have the taint anymore, so where did it go? What if its already sick? What if…?”

Alistair suddenly didn’t feel like he was quite capable of holding them both on their feet this moment. He moved them to the window seat, drawing Bethany into his lap and pressing a somewhat messy kiss to her temple.

Was she right? Or just scared? Wouldn’t he feel it if the… if there was still taint in her body? He really hadn’t been a Grey Warden long enough to learn about all the gruesome details. Pregnancy and babies just weren’t top of Duncan’s list when he was recruited. Didn’t seem like much of a worry at the time.

“There’s a woman,” Alistair said, “A mage I once knew. She might have some idea, but, Maker, I have no idea how to get in touch with her now. She disappeared quite purposefully. And she always hated me,” he added.

“The Warden Commander told me of someone else. Another mage who also stopped being tainted. He didn’t know much about it, but he knew her name and that when the Joining failed to taint her again, she went back to the Circle. She’s been there ever since.”

Not a great precedent. But she had been a Warden, and she was a Circle mage. A lot of knowledge, there. She could be useful. “We’ll send for her. Bring her here and she can tell us what she knows about being cured of the taint. Maybe she can reassure you that you… that our—” Maker, he could hardly say the word— “our _baby_ , is a baby and not something else.”

“The Commander told me she’s in Montsimmard. She’s Grand Enchanter. Fiona, her name is.”

“Sounds Orlesian,” Alistair grumbled, “And fancy.” Great, just what he needed, to entertain some puffed up Orlesian mage in hopes she would tell him anything useful. “Alright. I’ll have a letter sent today. We’ll invite this Grand Enchanter to court. Make a whole to-do out of it, if that’s what she wants.”

With an actionable plan, Bethany slowly stopped her crying. And Alistair was still—it all seemed too incredible.

“If you tell me you have a third piece of news, I’m not sure my heart would handle it,” he murmured, “A hole in the sky? The Maker has returned? Empress Celine has declared sensible shoes the fashion in Orlais?”

She laughed, a little. Which was really all that joke deserved. He kissed her. He meant for it to be gentle, sweet, something delicate to show his concern and care, but it came out fierce. He had missed her, and worried for her, and he loved her _so_ much, so much it hurt at times. And he kissed her because he was… Maker he was happy, he was so happy, he was so happy he couldn’t stand it, even if she was scared and he was probably scared, too, somewhere, just the happiness overwhelming it all. And Beth—well Beth may not have shared his happiness just yet, but she already had his jerkin half-off. Clever fingers, her.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Beth smiled at him and his heart caught in his throat and he either had too many thoughts or none at all. It was overwhelming with her, and he simply could not believe that this, this love between them, could result in something monstrous. It was unthinkable.

She had him halfway undressed before he blurted out, “We’re not going to hurt it like this, are we?”

“That’s not how that how that works,” Bethany replied, yanking off his breeches.

Oh. Well. Good.


	3. Chapter 3

Strictly speaking, the Circle of Magi did not report to the royalty of Thedas. They could choose to, as court enchanters, appointed there or otherwise, but they could just as easily refuse an appointment or even a simple invitation for a visit. Alistair employed a castle healer, but he had never bothered to request a mage to exist for his personal entertainment the way Orlesians seemed to. Rumor was Celene had a pretty face installed to tell her fortunes these days. Not that Celene needed many excuses to keep pretty faces around her court.

But Alistair’s thoughts were getting off target. Outside of Orlais, at least, mages were subjects of the Chantry more than they were subjects of any given country. Alistair could hardly command anything of an Orlesian mage stationed in Orlais anyhow, but it seemed to him like anyone imprisoned against their will would jump at the chance to travel a bit, even if it was just to Denerim.

Grand Enchanter Fiona rejected no fewer than three invitations from Alistair to visit Ferelden’s royal court.

He couldn’t make anything of it. The first invitation had been ostentatious—filigreed and heavy and full of adjectives and things to flatter her. She was Orlesian, after all.

Her response had been three words, sent by bird. _No, thank you._

He sent another, also by bird, this was time-sensitive, after all, pressing her on just how important such a visit would be and how grateful he, personally, would be to her. Surely the gratitude of a king wasn’t worthless to a Grand Enchanter.

Another bird. Another three words. _No, thank you_.

His last message was simpler. _Is there anything we can do to change your mind?_

One word this time: _No._

“Ferelden isn’t _that_ bad,” he groaned to Fran, “Can’t be worse than a Circle.”

“Maybe she hates royalty,” Fran suggested.

“I’m hardly a royal and we both know it.”

Fran rolled her eyes. “Maybe she hates bastards.”

He dropped his head into his hand. Poncy Orlesian gits. What did Montsimmard have that Denerim didn’t? Who didn’t want to take a lovely three- to four-week jaunt through Orlais and Ferelden in early spring? Interminable carriage rides through the countryside were endlessly fascinating, he was sure.

Well, if she wouldn’t come to them, perhaps they should go to her. It was going to be difficult to find a reason to cross the border without an invitation. And how would he explain his need to visit a Circle and speak to a specific mage? A mage who made it clear she had no interest in talking? Maker, the whole thing was an international incident waiting to happen.

Bethany could sneak in on her own, he supposed, as a Warden. She was allowed. But she was not a Warden, technically, anymore, so she’d have to do it alone, and there was no way _that_ was happening.

He stared at the three useless letters from the Grand Enchanter. _No, No,_ and _Never._

“You know, I’ve been good to mages,” he complained to Fran.

“The best, sir.”

“She should _want_ to visit. Give me an award or something. ‘Best Mage Sympathizer in Thedas.’”

“Perhaps she’s a loyalist and finds your heresy offensive.”

Alistair folded his arms on his desk and dropped his face right into them. It didn’t really matter _why_ she wasn’t coming. She’d made it clear she wouldn’t come. “What am I going to tell Beth?” he moaned into the woodwork.

Fran, not knowing the reasons for Alistair’s desperation in trying to get the Grand Enchanter to Ferelden, had no answer for him.

“You could set your sights on less lofty enchanters? Ones with a fondness for our humble home?”

He waved her away while trying to _think_. Couldn’t do much of that recently. He had sworn to Bethany he would say nothing, to anyone, but all he wanted to do was go find a crib. And a toy horse, maybe. Blankets and little frocks and tiny socks for tiny feet and somehow he was supposed to keep all of that inside while ruling a country and Bethany was out of her mind with worry.

She wouldn’t even talk to him about the—well about _their—_ the… Maker. Their _baby_. 

And she was—she couldn’t stand the smell of cheese anymore, and Maker, was that a struggle, but she craved all the hot pepper in the kingdom, and there just wasn’t much there to begin with. The cooks were beside themselves trying to scramble for something spicy enough to feed her, and though the cheese thing he might have pinned on some demonic influence, he simply had a hard time imagining a darkspawn baby desiring hot peppers.

But Bethany was the one who had to… well, if he was wrong and it wasn’t a… but even if it _was_ … fuck. Alistair rubbed his forehead. Bethany was the one doing all the work when it came down to it, for better or worse, so if she said they weren’t going to set the servants on sewing the frilliest little dresses in all of Ferelden, she had the right of it.

~

Bethany was tired. She was tired of _being_ tired, but that didn’t make her less tired. And she was too hot, all the time, but especially when she was trying to sleep with Alistair’s arms made of fire around her and two dogs on top of her and if she couldn’t sleep she was going to start crying. Again. Cold her entire life, and now she would have given anything to remember what that felt like.

It was better being back home, even with Alistair’s absurdly hot arms. Amaranthine had been lonely, and once the Wardens realized she wasn’t one of them anymore, confusing and alienating. They didn’t even make a big deal out of it, just sort of shrugged and turned away from her and went on with Warden business. Business that was no longer hers at all. She was a visitor in a place that had previously been a home, and she _felt_ it. It was a relief to get in her carriage and leave, even as she was plagued with doubts about everything.

And Alistair was acting like he was certain they would receive good news about _it_. The thing. The little rhythm in her belly that was growing larger every day.

He was so _happy_ , which made it worse, because even though he was trying, he couldn’t exactly hide his exuberance about it all. He was laughing all the time and smiling even harder at every child in the castle. She caught him handing out sweets to a gaggle of them in the Denerim marketplace, which wasn’t exactly unusual behavior for him, but he looked so guilty when he saw her watching him. 

And Bethany just couldn’t be. Happy or exuberant or glowing because years ago her half-dead body was dragged out of the Deep Roads, and when she woke up they told her this could never happen, not for her, and if after all this, it turned out they were right, it would hurt so much more.

“What if we gave it a code name?” Alistair suggested after he tried, and failed, to form a sentence about it, “Like Friedrich?”

“I’m not naming it.”

“No I meant— call it something neutral that isn’t a miracle and isn’t a horrifying blood curse from beneath the earth. I don’t, call it breakfast, maybe.”

“You love breakfast,” she muttered, “That’s in the blessing category.”

“Alright, call it—” he cast about the room for something— “Quill? Book? Candlestick?”

“She’s not coming, is she,” Bethany stated. Grand Enchanter was a fancy title. Queen of the Circle, which might just be better than Queen of Ferelden because every country had a Circle, and Bethany wasn’t actually Queen anyway. “You would have opened with that if she were coming.”

Alistair deflated a little. “She is… not coming, no.” And here were the stupid tears that seemed ready to threaten her all the time. They weren’t _her_ tears, they were _its_ tears. And this heat was _its_ heat. She walked to the window and opened it, cold spring air on her face, and at least she could solve _that_ problem. “There are other mages,” Alistair said, “Other healers, other Wardens—I could write to Weisshaupt—”

“The—the _horse_ will be here before we hear back from Weisshaupt.”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head, one finger in the air, “Not ‘horse,’ you’re afraid of horses, don’t think I’m going to let you get away with that one.”

The heat was subdued for the moment, and she shut the window. Hot all the time, and she still couldn’t stop thinking about that spicy soup she ate when her Warden group ended up in Antiva. It was sour, too, like those awful pickles Fenris kept finding back in Kirkwall, and now she could add those to her list of things she desperately wanted. She had half a mind to ask Alistair if they could find an excuse to sail across the Waking Sea, except that would take her even farther away from the only person in the world who had answers to her questions.

“Beth, I’m sorry.”

Alistair stood with his hands in front of him, shoulders hunched. She’d been in a mood since returning from Amaranthine, and he’d taken the brunt of it.

“It’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I just wish there was something I could do.”

She crossed the room to him, placed his hands around her waist, and dropped her face into his chest. Alistair took the hint and hugged her tightly. He was clever that way. “You can set our navy to herd any Antivan trading ships here and commandeer all of their hot peppers and pickles. Pickled hot peppers, especially, if they have them.”

He chuckled into her hair. “I’ll see what I can do.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Lea,_

_I need your help. There’s a woman I desperately need to speak with, but she won’t come to Denerim. She won’t come to Ferelden at all. You can convince anyone to do anything, so I thought perhaps you could help me with this. It needs to be kept a complete secret, though. Please, it needs to happen quickly._

_Love,_

_Bethany_

_Dear Bethany,_

_Give me her location and name, and I’ll deliver her to you._

_Love,_

_Hawke_

_Dear Lea,_

_I did not mean for you to kidnap her! I’m not sure what I mean for you to do, but she’s a mage, and I don’t think she’ll come easily, anyhow. Oh, Maker, you’re going to kidnap her, aren’t you? Well if it comes down to it, you know best._

_Love,_

_Bethany_

Lea arrived before Bethany sent her last letter. For one, horrible moment when the news was delivered that the Champion of Kirkwall was seen around the Denerim docks, she wondered if she had somehow _already_ kidnapped Grand Enchanter Fiona. But no, that was impossible, just the timing of it couldn’t possibly be, unless Lea had learned to fly or something, and... no. Not even her sister could fly. And Bethany hadn’t told her _who_ it was she needed, and there was no chance she had divined it.

Her arrival caused an entire kerfuffle in the city. She’d chosen to arrive on a pirate’s ship, albeit one with a new captain. The Champion of Kirkwall arriving in Denerim was not a small event—she was, somewhat annoyingly, a local hero. The refugee who fought off the Qunari singlehandedly, although with the help of her dog. He was also reported to be in Denerim, and soon the kitchens smelled of something distinctly meaty, and when Bethany ventured that way with her nose carefully covered, she found two cooks arguing over which bone was the superior one for the Champion’s dog.

She made a careful escape and gave up on eating for the day.

“Bethany,” Alistair called when he spotted her in the throne room, half-frantic and crown askew, “Were you going to tell me your sister was coming for a visit?”

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand _why_ you would want her to visit,” he continued, eyes searching every shadow in the room, “But I don’t have my shield with me just now and some warning would have been helpful.”

She heard a castle guard give a bit of a shout of alarm. Lea must have arrived. But it was Varric who strode into the hall, crossbow strapped to his back, chest hair out in the open in the cold, Ferelden air.

“Sunshine,” he greeted her, his arms opened his arms wide. Bethany was happy to bend down and hug him for all she was worth. “Is that him?” Varric jerked his head in Alistair’s direction. “Trust you to marry the biggest human I have ever seen. He’s not part Qunari, is he?”

Bethany released Varric to grin at Alistair, who was looking horrified. “I don’t believe so,” he stuttered out.

Bethany’s eyes landed on Fenris. _Fenris._ Fenris of the spicy pickles. Fenris had come to save her. She ran into his arms just as surely as she had run to Varric’s. A little more surprised to receive her, a little harder and spikier with the chest plate, but he hugged her just the same.

“It is good to see you, too,” he murmured. 

“Fenris, did you happen to bring any of those horrible pickles you liked to eat for breakfast?”

He drew away from her a little, covering his mouth with his hand a bit sheepishly. “I, uh… didn’t think I ate any this morning, but…”

“You absolute gem,” she cooed, “You dear, dear man. You _must_ share them with me.”

“Oh… I—”

“You heard the woman,” Lea interrupted, a hand on his shoulder, “You _must._ ”

Fenris snorted, releasing Bethany entirely. “I will relinquish my supply, I suppose. For some reason.”

“Bethy, give me a hug.”

Lea drew her in, not waiting for an answer, and Bethany found herself smooshed against leather armor. Behind her, Alistair was stuttering very awkwardly, and once released, Bethany was not surprised to find him face to face with Isabela. Well, they _had_ met before, a fact which Bethany wasn’t ever going to forget, and by Isabela’s suggestive letters, _she_ certainly hadn’t forgotten, and by how Alistair had flushed to the tips of his ears, he had not forgotten either.

She might have enjoyed the awkwardness of it all, the way Isabela winked at her, the way Alistair had his hand in his hair again, if Fenris hadn’t procured a half-empty jar of red and green and, once Bethany opened the lid, completely foul-smelling vegetables. “Get me a spoon, please” she ordered a servant while Lea wandered over to Alistair.

“And when do I get a hug from my little brother?” she asked. 

“Little?” Varric asked at the same time Alistair said, his voice cracking on it, “Brother?”

He was stunned into hugging her back. And Bethany, holding her jar of pickles and watching the two people she loved best in the world embrace, felt a very strong _something_. Peace, maybe, which she hadn’t felt since discovering she was with—her eyes cast about the room—crown? No, Alistair hated crowns. She scanned the room. Tapestries, daggers, armor... Crossbow. Crossbows were neutral. She felt peace since the first time she discovered she was expecting a little crossbow.

And then someone handed her a spoon. “Oh, it’s awful,” she exclaimed blissfully, the pickles hot on her tongue, “My mouth is _burning_.” All eyes were on her as beads of sweat gathered on her brow and tears pricked. It was exactly what the little crossbow wanted. She swallowed. “Alistair you must knight him.”

“What?”

“Fenris,” she clarified, digging her spoon into the pickles again with a delicate little sniffle as her nose began to run, “Make him a knight for services to the realm.”

Alistair turned to Fenris. “Do you… want to be a knight of Ferelden?”

“Not particularly.”

Alistair nodded, blowing out all of the air in his chest. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Well then,” Lea said, beaming at Alistair, “My sister said she had something very important and secret to tell me, so I’d be much obliged if someone pointed us toward a quiet room with no prying ears.”

Alistair was only too happy to get rid of her, though to his horror, her friends did not follow. Bethany waved him a quick goodbye with her spoon.

“So, when should I expect my little niece or nephew?” Lea asked as soon as the door shut behind them.

Bethany blanched. “What?”

“You just tried to have Fenris knighted for handing over his disgusting breakfast vegetables. You are either expecting a small Theirin or… something much more upsetting is afoot. I choose to believe the former.”

Bethany had hoped she could get this solved without telling her sister anything. Of course, that was before Lea had arrived at her home unannounced and uninvited. “Wardens can’t have babies,” she asserted, “Not in general, and especially not with each other.”

Lea raised an eyebrow, her body tensing. “It’s not Alistair’s?”

“What? No! Of course it’s—Maker’s breath, yes, it’s his.”

“Oh, good.” Lea relaxed her muscles, rolling her shoulders a bit. “I was _not_ in the mood to stage a coup today. I would have brought Merrill along for one thing.” Bethany rolled her eyes, but Lea was looking concerned again. “Hang on, you didn’t make a deal with some sort of witch, did you? Wander into the Wilds and promise her something in exchange for a baby?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t try to get out of that kind of deal, Bethy. Witches are dangerous. At least I have Fenris with me for this, and Isabela did pack a lot of magebane...”

“I didn’t make any deals! I didn’t _do_ anything!”

“Other than Alistair, you mean.”

Bethany ignored this. “The woman I want to speak to was a Grey Warden. Now she’s in the Circle. I’m hoping she can tell me a little about… how this came to be and what it means.”

“A Grey Warden mage? Maker, Bethany, I could have just brought Anders.”

“I’ve been a Warden longer than he ever was,” she snapped, “And I don’t have any answers. No, it _has_ to be her. And she won’t come.”

Lea put a hand on Bethany’s shoulder, and she realized she was dangerously close to tears. “Then we’ll to her. All of us.”

Bethany nodded. She had figured it was the only solution. Alistair wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t exactly claim she wasn’t safe while being escorted by the Champion of Kirkwall.

“Please don’t tell the others about this,” she said, gesturing to her belly, “I really don’t want anyone to know. I don’t think it’s going to…” She swallowed, unable to finish her sentence. Lea, for once, looked serious.

“I promise,” she replied, “But if I figured it out, Fenris figured it out five minutes earlier. And Varric two minutes before that. And everyone else who was in the room, also, definitely figured it out, including _all_ of your servants and possibly the dogs. Oh, fuck.”

Bethany was crying again, and Lea pulled her close. “It’s going to be alright, Bethy,” she murmured into her hair, “I’ve got you. We’ll take care of you.” 

And she did feel better, weirdly, knowing that Lea was going to help. Even Orlesians had to be charmed by the Champion of Kirkwall. And if all else failed, well, kidnapping had not exactly been taken off the table.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr as nug-juggler


End file.
